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Mon, October 30
Housewares
Crate and Barrel. Ikea. Pottery Barn. These store names are pretty harmless, aren’t they? In fact, I love shopping at these stores by myself. Unfortunately, I cannot say that it is the most enjoyable case when shopping with the significant other.
J and I get along amazingly well for two people living in a small studio the size of a suburban living room. We have no bedroom, just one open space. We could sit side by side for hours and not exchange one tension-filled word. But put us among the sprawl of couches, drapes, end tables and candle sticks and suddenly we’re at each other like opposing kickball team captains on the playground.
We were shopping yesterday while visiting his dad in Manhasset. All was well and good—we’d survived a trip to Tiffany’s where his dad asked him if “Lexi wanted to look around a bit,” after we got our anniversary present for his parents engraved. We entered Crate and Barrel to look for picture frames for the three Schiele prints we picked up at the Neue Galerie last weekend. As we ascended the stairs, I sweetly reminded J that he would need to fix my broken dresser when we got home. Yes, true, we were nowhere NEAR our apartment so it really is useless to remind someone to fix something when it is thirty miles away. And, it is also true that I had reminded him to fix it before we went to sleep the night before, and over breakfast that morning. So I can sort of understand why J got upset:
“Lex, you have done NOTHING but bug me and tell me what to do this whole weekend. Please, stop. It’s “J do this, J do this, J do that” and I am SICK OF IT.”
I was mad. I don’t like getting yelled at. I walked away and sulked next to the picture frames. Moments later I felt his arms wrap around me.
“You know, couples are supposed to fight in the cooking aisle and make up in the housewares section.”
But what about stairs? Do couples also fight on stairs? Or in every store for that matter, no matter what area of the store we are in?
Lesson learned though. Nagging is never right, even if the person one is nagging has already taken three days to throw out the newspaper by the front door. Even if it’s taken him a week to put away the laundry you washed and folded and left on the chair. I will remember, that if I do succumb to nagging, that I should at least do it somewhere near the housewares section.
The drawer is still not fixed, but when I came home from seeing SAW III with my brother last night, the boxes that I had been waiting for him to get rid of were nowhere to be seen.
Posted by lexzog at Mon, October 30 | Comments (0)
Sun, October 22
Croissants, Bangs, and Pizza: A Full Weekend
Poor Shannon Doherty. I am watching her right now on an ABC Family program about witches and Satan. Or rather…Poor ME! Why am I watching this crap?
On the other hand, the night isn’t so bad: I’m drinking wine with J, waiting for his white bean soup to finish cooking. I had a fantastic weekend…Well, except for the part when I was up all night on Friday freaking out because I had watched “The Grudge” and couldn’t get the images out of my head (ironically, Ash is going crazy and insisting on sleeping in my parent’s bed because she saw the “Scary Movie” that showed the kid from the Grudge).
Saturday morning J and I walked to Soho for coffee at Balthazar’s takeout place. It seemed that croissants were the breakfast pastry of the day. At the shop, there was this one woman who took about half an hour to place her order because she kept on changing her mind. But that wasn’t the annoying part—she insisted on saying “qwa-sant” as if she were some fancy French wannabe. Her poor daughter—“Darling, would you like a chocolate quasant or a plain quasant?” “Mom, I don’t want anything!” The next couple in line, which I’ll just call the “model couple” because both of them looked like models, ALSO ordered the famous qwasant. Can’t you just say “krasant” like normal people? I mean, fine, if you’re French, or if you can pronounce it the French way (quoissan, I believe), by all means. But don’t talk in a thick Long Island accent and all of a sudden throw in the fanciness. It doesn’t work. Trust me. You sound like an idiot.
J and I snickered over the croissant fiasco on my way to art class. An hour into class I finally had a moment to eat my breakfast. I opened my Balthazar bag looking very forward to my pumpkin cranberry scone—and instead found a fricking CROISSANT! Of course.
At four, a friend of a friend, named Koby, fit me in for a haircut. I feel so “right now” because…I got BANGS. No other hairstylist has let me have bangs since I was seven. They said it was impossible for curly haired people to have bangs. Well, Koby has proven them wrong! I was really excited about my super new ‘do, but each time I looked in the mirror I had this tiny feeling that I reminded myself of someone. Took me until today, as I was dialing my parent’s house, to realize that I now am a couple of blonde highlight sessions away from looking exactly like my mom. It’s Okay though. My mom’s a pretty lady. But the irony is that my hair was inspired from the east-village ironic punk rawk-indie-hipster-scene, and my mom’s hair is circa 1980, which, if we’re being honest here, is really the same thing, though the hipsters wouldn’t dare to admit it.
Armed with a new look and a new shirt from Forever21, I went out for a night on the town with Jen, and sans J…J was having a little boys’ night with his, well, boys, so it was a nice opportunity to strictly hang with one of my girls. Jen took me and a couple other friends to a brownstone in the village, owned by the founder of MTV and sponsored by Chivas Regal. The party was pretty lame (no more than two dozen people were there, and they all seemed really young), but the house was amazing. Actually, the MTV guy was amazing too—he looked REALLY old, but was wearing a hoodie and a ski cap. He apparently has a thing for young twenty-somethings, especially if they are Asian because almost every girl there fit that description. It was fun to watch, though. There were a couple of talented performances on a makeshift stage in his living room, including a freestyle rapper, a hip-hop and R&B group, and a folk singer.
When the party got old, we moved on. Somehow a pair of tagalong girls managed to trail behind our group for a good distance. It wasn’t until we made it to Magnolia Bakery to check out the line (and try to nab some banana pudding) that I noticed them tiptoeing quietly behind. I don’t know how I started out an evening with Jen, and ended up with a party of eight of people from Columbia Business School, but I almost found myself responsible for getting everyone into the Gansevoort where I had planned to visit my cousin who waitresses there. Luckily, we easily made our way in, and even luckier—Margs was able to get us a great table outside. We hung out, drank expensive mojitos (I rationalize that I’m paying for the view, not the alcohol), and fought off two Norwegian guys who were in town “for five days only”, who were trying to mac to us.
The best part of the night, of course, was having pizza with Jen. It afforded us that unique opportunity to digest the night’s occurrences and talk about everyone (my favorite pastime). It was so beautiful outside that I decided to walk home, heels and all. J and I ended up getting home within minutes of each other. Perfect timing.
And now, we just got home from an after dinner walk to Barnes and Noble (i.e. “the vortex”). I swear I could stay there for hours and not know a minute has passed. Where else can you read every magazine that exists for free and not get yelled at (ahem, magazine kiosk guy on 23rd street, I’m talking ‘bout YOU)? Time for bed, and to finish the most depressing book in the world, “The Year of Magical Thinking.”
Posted by lexzog at Sun, October 22 | Comments (0)
Tue, October 10
Quiching!
All this time I've been telling myself I do have a bit of the Domestic Goddess in me: I dust our furniture every other day, vacuum every three days, Windex the windows, and do the laundry (well, the last time I washed the laundry and J folded). But last night, J one-upped me in Domestic Godessness: On my way home from seeing a sing-along version of “Grease” at the Ziegfield theatre with my coworkers, I received a text from J: “Que pasa?” he asked. I wrote back that I was on my way home. “What are you up to?” I texted him. His response back:
“Quiching!!”
I had no idea what that meant. Maybe it was a new kind of dance the kids were doing these days…But when I came home, the answer was this: There was J, in the kitchen, in his bathrobe, laboring over two quiches. I now hand him the Domestic Crown, for all I’ve done in the kitchen thus far is make cereal.
By the way, my “life plan” is now out in the open. At my mother’s birthday party on Friday, I was hanging out in my sister’s room with her and her other twelve year old friends. One of her friends teased me relentlessly about why I am not married. “Because,” I explained. “I don’t have a ring on my finger.”
“Why don’t you have a ring on your finger?” she prodded.
“Because I’m not engaged,” I answered.
“But why aren’t you engaged? You and J have been dating for like, five years!”
“Two, actually...Well, I don’t know really. Maybe in a year or so…I’m in no rush for marriage. But I guess it would be nice if...”
I noticed that her eyes were now looking behind me, towards the doorway. I turned, and there was J, with a bemused expression on his face, like, “Oh REALLY? So that’s the plan, huh?” So embarrassing. I also can’t believe I’m getting pressured by twelve year olds.
J, on the other hand, was smarter than me. When my mom's friends asked him why he and I weren't engaged yet, he answered simply, "Because I'm gay." On second thought, that would have required a much lengthier explanation for the twelve year olds...
Posted by lexzog at Tue, October 10 | Comments (0)
Tue, October 3
Knitting Factory at Last
I have always wanted to go to The Knitting Factory. Well, maybe not always, but at least since freshman year of college. My friend Jessie had told me about an amazing date she had with a Columbia freshman: They watched the sun set while walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, had ice cream on the other side, then went back to Manhattan to see a band play at the Knitting Factory. To the rest of us Barnard gals, this sounded about the equivalent of a weekend jet to Paris. The Knitting Factory sounded great but it was all the way downtown! And we had to study! Who had time to go THAT FAR? To many of us, the 80's and Broadway area WAS "downtown."
Well, good thing I situated myself down here, now that I am an adult. So that was my long introduction (and my Business Writing teacher at NYU would chime in right about now and say, "It sounds like you’re backing into your point. Why don't you just come out and say it already?")
Becs took me and Helena to see her crush and his band, "Brooklyn Shakes" (http://www.harlemshakes.com/). Surprisingly, they were good! I know I'm getting older when guys in bands start looking like they have baby faces. The lead singer looked like the poor man's Gael Bernal. His voice was at worst, smurf like, and at best, fifties crooner-ish. At times they sounded like Deathcab for Cutie, but for the most part, the blend of tambourines, synthetic beats and Casio piano made them stand out. I might even call them original.
Apparently this was the only show in town, because right at the bar was a guy Becs used to date. With his new girlfriend! She ducked away before he could see her, but the three of us couldn't believe that of all shows playing in the city on a Tuesday night, he had to show up at THIS one. I reminded her that the downfall of their relationship was because she forced him to not wear the sticker nametag he insisted on wearing EVERY DAY, and I think that cheered her up. Breaking up over a nametag! Life imitates "Sex in the City" too often.
We had the cheapest dinner ($10 total including tip, per person) at a place in Chinatown, called "New Green Bo" on Bayard between Mott and Elizabeth. Delicious vegetable dumplings and seafood dumplings. The dipping sauce with the ginger pieces was so nice and vinegary. The hot and sour soup wasn't too spicy but had just enough bite. Don't go there expecting service. And if you try to order the soup with the sweet sesame paste balls, the waiter will make a face and say, "but it's sweet" (this dish is considered a dessert). And if you want two scallion pancakes, the waiter will make an even worse face and point out how big each pancake is, making you feel like a giant heifer for wanting two (for three people!). But despite the judgmental service, the food is REALLY good.
The Yom Kippur fast wasn't that bad. I was so tired in temple that I fell asleep curled against my mom. I had stayed up late the night before cutting wrapping paper (amazing wrapping paper--the most beautiful I'd ever seen, from a tiny store on Mott street) to fit the insides of my drawers. But by the time I opened my eyes the service was over. Thank goodness because the girl behind me had a whooping cough, and she did not cough into her fist. She just kept barking and barking into my hair. And worse--she and her brother insisted on reading the English in their prayer books louder than the whole congregation, and it seemed that they were racing to finish each prayer before everyone else. Not only did they shout off beat to the congregation, but they also couldn't pronounce certain words. To an editor, mispronunciation makes every word sound like a four letter word.
Poor Lindsay. At dinner, when we were breaking the fast, she got stuck with the short end of the stick--instead of a regular dining table chair, we sat her on the piano chair that mom pulls out when we're one chair short. Lindsay looked at it resignedly, and said, "Well, I've been sitting on this chair for twenty years..." It was so true. I'm sorry Lindsay! I should have given you my chair. Ah, hindsight.
On Saturday when J and I were walking through Soho, we happened upon this cool exhibit (I think on Crosby street). On the outside of a gallery store front, someone had stuck post its to cover the entire window of the space, and left spaces so that it spelled, "To Do." The sign on the door encouraged anyone and everyone to write their own "to do" on one of the blank post its. We were on our way to coffee at Balthazar, so I wrote, "Drink lattes with your lover."
Time for bed.
Posted by lexzog at Tue, October 3 | Comments (0)